


Happy To Serve

by turnedherbrain



Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 08:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11482863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnedherbrain/pseuds/turnedherbrain
Summary: Written in response to the prompt 'Coffee Shop AU' for the Humans Challenge 2017 on Tumblr.Mattie Hawkins gets a job in a coffee shop and finds it hard to adopt a customer-centric attitude. Warning: this story contains metaphorical and literal cheese.





	Happy To Serve

“Is that what you’re wearing?” said Laura.

“You’re asking me that? Seriously?” retorted her daughter. “I thought we’d evolved beyond that misguided parenting stage.”

“Mat-tie,” chided her dad, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the news on his iPad. “You’ll have to adopt a more customer-centric approach if you’re going to keep this job. Less… surly. More… smiley.”

Mattie bit her lip. “OK, dad. Point taken. Can I have a lift?”

“Can I have a moment’s peace in this house?” replied Joe, but he put down his tablet and grabbed the car keys anyway. “Anything we need from the shops, Laur? I can pop in on the way back.”

“A new daughter?” Laura responded, glancing at Joe and giving him The Look.

Mattie got it. Everyone’s parents loved to embarrass and tease them. Yet her dad was right: she was a terrible person for this job. Her version of customer service involved telling entitled people exactly where to go.

However, she needed the money for her university fund, and the coffee shop was the closest to ‘alternative’ that this town had. Located on the edge of the university campus, it was frequented by people who had interesting tattoos and sipped single espressos whilst composing their coursework on their laptops.

The customers matched the studied coolness of the place. The coffee shop was called Roast, had a 50s-style turntable where people could select obscure jazz LPs to play, and had a brass urn in place of a steaming coffee machine. However, it meant that Joe didn’t need to worry about her lack of customer service. The café was so cool, aloof disinterest was a prerequisite for employees. The manager, Tom, had hired her on the proviso that she taught him how to mod his synth – a fact she’d neglected to tell her parents.

The café was buzzing at all hours of the day, so she found that the morning passed quickly. She’d decided to guess what the customers wanted as they queued up to order, as a way of keeping herself amused.

Now, this guy didn’t fit in. He had a traditional short, back and sides, wore non-ironic spectacles and was dressed in badly-fitting slacks. The small name badge sewn on his shirt also gave him away – ‘DS Drummond’.

“Strong cup of builder’s tea, largest size you have,” he said distractedly, staring down at his phone the whole time.

“Well, we’ve got Rooibos, Darjeeling, a house blend…”

“Do I look like I care what blend? Just tea.”

“OK,” said Mattie, feeling affronted at his rudeness. As she brewed his tea, she asked the inquisitive question that had been on her mind: “I thought police officers had all been replaced by synths anyway?” Ah, she’d got his attention now. He looked up from furiously tapping at the phone screen is if he’d just noticed she was there.

“No, not all ranks. Not where it counts anyway, thank god,” grunted DS Drummond. “This country’s going to the dogs. Cheers for the tea.” He turned to go before she could give him his change.

“Happy to serve!” shouted Mattie as a form of goodbye.

On one of the couches towards the back of the café, sitting under a Roy Lichtenstein print, two young men who could have passed for students studied the A4 menu card.

“What’s ‘BLT’? Or ‘chai latte’? And ‘GF’?” mused one, looking bewildered. “And what the hell is ‘halloumi’?”

“‘GF’ stands for ‘Gluten Free’,” said the other. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, as if he was an introvert who had to force himself into social situations.

“Max, did you just look that up? Mia said…”

“I recall what Mia said. No cheating. It’s written at the bottom of the menu – look,” and he helpfully pointed out the explanation of the acronym in the small print.

“Do you know what ‘halloumi’ is then too?”

“I’m afraid not Leo. Maybe you can ask the serving person?”

“She doesn’t look very helpful,” said Leo, glancing over at the counter.

“The point of this exercise is to do what humans do. Have a coffee. A sandwich. Talk to other humans. You should ask her.”

Leo scratched his stubble and went back to poring over the menu. This was a stupid idea, and he was also putting his brother at unnecessary risk, even though the dark contact lenses and cap meant Max could pass fairly unnoticed in public.

Mia had shared her initiative with him over two weeks ago, but this was the first time that Leo had put it into practice. He was doing it more because she’d asked him to, rather than really thinking it would do him any good. “You can’t stay in the house with us all of the time. You’re human. You should interact with other humans.”

“ **You’re** human. Better than human in my opinion,” argued Leo. “And I’m fine here. I’ve got everything I need.”

“Leo, you’re growing up. I’d like you to have a wider experience of the world than just your family.” She’d left it to settle, knowing that he’d mull it over and eventually concede.

Leo looked up from the menu again. Despite his casual assurance, he felt very out of place in the human world, like a beggar who’s been allowed to peek into a department store on Christmas Eve, just before closing time. Look – you can order anything you want. But you can’t really be part of it, other than just this once.

Sighing, he went over to the counter, taking the menu card so it could be translated. The young woman there didn’t look pleased to see him.

“Erm… can I ask what ‘halloumi’ is?” he ventured.

“You’re kidding! You seriously don’t know what halloumi is? What planet did you grow up on?” Mattie saw the man’s hurt reaction, and softened a little. “Well,” she said, leaning closer and pretending she was helpfully pointing out something on the menu. “Halloumi is pretty disgusting if you ask me. It tastes like smoked sweat and has the texture of India rubber. I’d recommend the BLT on sourdough. I’m guessing you know what ‘BLT’ and ‘sourdough’ are though?”

The young man gripped the menu and looked even more startled. “Umm, yes. Sounds good. I’ll have that.”

“No worries. Does your friend want anything?” she gestured towards Max.

“No. He’s fine, thanks,” said the man, still looking a bit bewildered.

Leo went back to his seat, reeling a little. Max smiled a reassurance: “You see, the interaction wasn’t that difficult, was it?”

Mattie brought the sandwich over and gave a half-smile. Biting into his sandwich, Leo thought that he’d try this experiment at the café again. Although he definitely wasn’t going to try the halloumi.


End file.
